


Prince of the Sea

by LovelessLadyLazarus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Introspection, M/M, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:15:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23284627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelessLadyLazarus/pseuds/LovelessLadyLazarus
Summary: Some of Theon's rather angsty thoughts, post haze. Kinda twisted now that I come to think of it.
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark
Kudos: 17





	Prince of the Sea

There was something divine in Robb's sleeping features, Theon had seldom seen it in any living being. Not that Theon had seen a lot of life. Yet he had seen beauty, or so he thought, beauty incarnated through a myriad of clothe less women, girls even (he had, after all, started young), most of their hair redder than their lips, open like in prayer, as they moan towards the seven heavens. He had always held a particular fondness for the redheaded ones, hair like fire (autumn leaves in most cases). O how he had adored it. What exactly it was, was hard to put his finger on. He supposed they reminded him of Robb (or Sansa maybe? Beautiful, elegant Sansa. Sansa who had been but a mere baby when he had first laid eyes her. No, he supposed not even he would be that perverted). He reckoned it was a feeling, an illusion more accurately, the illusion of being loved. It was a glorious one. To think him the centre of some pretty girl's life, even if it was just for a few minutes, even if she hadn’t actually asked him his name (he liked to pretend they knew who he was), even if he knew it was all for naught. Besides, none of them could ever compare to Robb’s extortionate beauty. 

He turned away. His eyes were burning. He couldn’t stand to look at Robb any longer, he wouldn’t; his eyeballs would certainly burst out of their sockets and run over his face in callous rivers, almost as painful as they were red if he continued, or worse; he might begin to cry. How he hated this feeling! The floor was cold and hard beneath his feet, (he despised stone, for stone doesn’t swim), but the pain under his soles distracted his aching mind from the burning behind his eyelids. He stumbled towards a window.   
He had never done particularly well with feelings, words, he was iron born after all. His family didn't value such frailties, and they were right to do so, were they not the only reason he hadn't left Robb's sleeping form already? He turned back towards the bed. How lifeless he looked; ethereal even. (maybe he was just shallow after all?) His skin was fairer than the marble of a kingly statues; and so smooth. The closer he got to Robb, the blurrier the edges of the world began to feel. Don’t get too close, you’ll drown, the voices in his head seemed to whisper, yet Theon didn’t listen. He was drunk. Drunk on surreality, pleasure and bitterness and it somehow felt better and worse than anything he would ever feel in this life, if that he was certain. Reality faded wherever Robb went, leaving him a dreamscape to shape however he pleased. And Robb had dreams, of truth, justice, a better world (one that they could share, Robb had promised him once, post haze) Robb’s dreams were worth pursuing, or so everyone (even Theon) told him. 

But Theon had dreams too. Usually under black seawater on sun drenched shores. Only that the skies were empty except for a few rough seagulls. The light seemed sallow and darkness was slowly seeping onto the white beaches. He supposed everyone dreamed of what they held dear. So, every so often he would drown Robb behind his shut eyelids, even when he was waking. He may be radiant in his deathlike sleep but drowning Robb would be a vision not seen since Mad King Aerys II had set half of King’s Landing ablaze. If Theon were to close his eyes he would see golden stars on a black sky (did they form a kraken?) and bellow that Robb Stark in an endless puddle of ink-like water. 

Salt water, like the tears he would weep at Robb’s wedding. For both were inevitable, He couldn’t give Robb any children and even disregarding that, the King of the North couldn’t wed his prisoner. What would his banner lords say? What would his mother say? Would she weep? Lost her precious firstborn son to the iron whoremonger; o what a fantastic fantasy, owning Robb! Though in truth the prospect of losing Robb, somehow frightened him more than all of Tywin Lannister’s troupes, “Let them come,” he wanted to tell Robb, “Let them come and I’ll face them, all of them, singlehandedly, for you My King, only for you (so make it worth it).” He probably would leave the last part unsaid. And now there were tears, if the iron born like the sea so much, Theon had always wondered, why do they despise tears, as what are tears but the sea flowing from your eyes; they tasted the same anyhow. 

The word outside looked bleak, ash coloured snow collected on dirty grass. Walls seemed to be staring at him, like so many dead eyes. Winterfell he though, only it wasn’t. It was some nameless place, build by some forgotten lord, but it might as well have been Winterfell. Only smaller and perhaps even more foreign. Behind him the future of the North was dreaming peacefully. How easy it would be to just creep up next to him and- then what? Strangle him in his sleep? Suffocate him? It would be sweet revenge for what the North did to him; keeping him a prisoner, under the pretence of carrying, he who was the rightful heir to the Iron Islands. There would be a funeral. Catelyn Stark would weep vast, ugly tears, yet smile, had she not told him the Greyjoy lad was no good? It ought to show them. Yet as he turned around and there was that exquisitely sleeping face, he knew he couldn’t do it. He never will.

So, Theon continues starring outside, not quite at Winterfell, but close enough. The most beautiful prison in the entire fucking world, home to the most beautiful thing he had never owned (no, he didn't own him, he never would). If there was a fire, he'd let it burn, all of it, even- "Theon?" a voice muttered and shortly after he felt raw, clasped lips and wet tough on his neck. "Come back to me my love." Robb whispered, before pushing him towards the bed and landing on top of him shortly. And Theon let him, he let him because Robb was his king and he had sworn to protect him. Because Robb was beautiful in ways Theon couldn't even begin to comprehend. Because deep down, under the bitterness and the bravado, he may well hold a tiny bit of love for Robb Stark.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to anyone who actually read this. It's actually the first official piece of fanfic I wrote, it shows doesn't it? Anyway if you do have any feedback, that would be most appreciated. Otherwise have a most pleasant day.


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